


touchscreen turnaround

by actinide



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Earth C (Homestuck), F/M, Fictional Religion & Theology, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Incest, M/M, Minor Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Not Epilogue Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pale Polyamory (Homestuck), Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Platonic Life Partners, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:15:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21856678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actinide/pseuds/actinide
Summary: Your name is Dave Strider, formally known as the Knight of Time, proclaimed religious icon and all around good guy, and you are twenty-two years old.This isn't really how you planned on anything in your life going.In which Dave goes in search of someone and finds himself facing several things he may not be ready for, in a way perhaps most similar to one of Karkat's sitcoms.He definitely isn't ready for any of it.Written for someone's au.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Dirk Strider, Davesprite & Dave Strider, Davesprite♦️Dave Strider
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	1. sealight segue

**Author's Note:**

> I Can't Believe It's Not Epilogue Fanfiction™  
> (me neither)  
> i have no right to be posting this right now when it's definitely not what i'm supposed to be working on but oh well!!!!!!!!!!!  
> brain wanted pale romance and that's what it gave me.  
> of course, that's always subject to change, isn't it?  
> written as part of an au out there in the world, but don't tell ;)

Your name is Dave Strider, formally known as the Knight of Time, proclaimed religious icon and all around good guy, and you are twenty-two years old.

You are twenty-two years old and you are standing on the roof of your brother’s workshop, in the middle of a jungle, on a tiny island continent that nobody cares about except for you and maybe ten other people.

You are also, if the audience cares to know at all, pissed the fuck off.

\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

TG: so i travel all the fucking way out here right  
TG: to dirks desert fucking island  
TG: desert is a stretch obviously its humid as balls i dont know how he fucking stands this shit but it is unbearable you think houston was bad im moist in all the wrong places  
TG: not that theres a right place to be moist obviously except well  
TG: look anyway thats not important right now  
TG: so i come all the way out here im all up and ready to get my jam on been waiting all week for this shit seriously ask karkat i have been pumping myself up for days  
TG: the plans i have so tenderly laid rose the fucking plans imagine them now  
TG: all groomed the shit out of those plans  
TG: watering them and giving them fertilizer and shit  
TG: and then when they were all grown tf up you know what i did i fucking laid them because thats what you do with plans you lay that shit down in stone  
TG: because a bro never breaks his promise especially not when one of them took all that goddamn time  
TG: farming all these  
TG: goddamn  
TG: fucking  
TG: plans  
TG: i think ive lost track of where i was going here  
TT: Have you? I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever actually reach the point at all.  
TG: of course i have a fucking point rose  
TT: Of course.  
TG: my point is that i came all the way here to dirk and jakes consort island palooza for a day of bro-filled fun and just like  
TG: chill time  
TG: so imagine my surprise when i get here and not only is he not here  
TG: he left me a goddamn voicemail a la actual physical fucking crocodile  
TG: who wont stop saying hes not here at top volume  
TG: so now im just standing on his roof  
TG: looking like a fucking clown  
TT: Oh.  
TG: oh??  
TG: thats it all my words all the love and energy i expended and all i get is one lousy oh?  
TT: Have you not heard?  
TT: I assumed he would tell you, of all people.  
TG: tell me what  
TG: hes not answering my texts either what the fuck gives with that  
TT: Well I assume he has not, from your point in time, set up the temporal bypass.  
TG: uhhhh  
TG: you want to run that by me again?  
TG: are you saying he skipped town like  
TG: for real this time  
TT: I would say he skipped something more like a century.  
TT: Or perhaps it would be more appropriate to say two.  
TG: how in the absolute fuck would he do that  
TG: thats a by the way because theres definitely about to be a fucking b  
TG: why wouldnt he tell me???  
TT: Dirk most certainly has his reasons, Dave, but I am not inherently privy to everything stupid your brother decides to do.  
TG: but you know all this and didnt tell me  
TT: As I said before, I was not aware you were being kept in the dark. I apologize for that.  
TT: But before you lay blame, perhaps I can direct you at someone more deserving.  
TT: I’m sure I needn’t remind you, you aren’t the only being in our universe with the capabilities of Time any longer.  
TG: im going to fucking kill them

Here’s the thing.

You say that, obviously, and you mean it, sure.

But it still takes you two days to finally get around to it.

You don’t know if Dirk is even expecting you to look for him, or if he cares at all (and you’re still shaking that habit, that tendency towards doubt, because you know he cares, of course you do, you know he just gets so fucking deep in his stupid brain he forgets everything but fuck if it doesn’t mess with you sometimes), but you figure he can wait.

Or at the very least, he doesn’t pester you to check, and the hit to your ego definitely plays a part in that hesitation, though the truth of the matter is a bit more complicated.

You said you’d do it, and you will it’s just.

Complicated.

Why is everything in your life always so fucking complicated?

So it takes two days.

Two days of Karkat asking, “Are you seriously still avoiding them?” and giving you pointed looks at every meal.

Sigh, groan, sigh.

Eventually you have to give up, don’t you?

You feel uncomfortable when you drop down in Sealight, on the roof of an apartment you haven’t seen in almost two years.

It isn’t that you dislike visiting, nothing like that, especially since Jane relocated and John along with her (they still live in the middle of the suburbs, Jane in the OG Crocker Manor that’s long become an urban legend, and John somewhere in the middle of the place where Old Cantown used to be) but something about this era bothers you, a sensation you can’t put your finger on.

There is something like resistance to the flow of time here, when you want to go poking and prodding along it. It might be - well it might be Aradia, actually, if you really think about it, because it’s kind of hard to keep tabs on her, if you’re being honest here, but.

What do you know, maybe it’s just a condition attached to the alpha timeline

If you still have one of those.

There’s shit they don’t tell you about becoming a literal, actual god, and the slowburn evolution of your powers is definitely one of them.

You want to think you’re handling it a lot better than some other people.

The truth is.

Well.

You don’t know yet.

You drop straight down the middle of the stair flight (no use walking when you can just fly), and pause at the landing, hand lifted to knock.

Two fucking years.

You really, _really_ don’t want to do this.

Not that you don’t like, adore the absolute shit out of them, you do, Christ, you do, it’s just.

Embarrassing, you guess.

The door flies open before you hand even touches the wood, and you’re immediately greeted by a troll, small as ever, with hair that curls around her ears and a face that lights up like a beacon behind your own shades, tinted in an orange so familiar you’d know it anywhere.

“Dave!” Nepeta cheers, throwing her arms around you with zero reservation, nor much concern for how stiff you go beneath her touch. “There mew are! It’s been so long, I thought you’d furgotten all about us!”

“Yeah,” you sigh, conceding in a heartbeat, like the loser you are. Listen, it’s definitely been way too fucking long, you ain’t denying that, but. Well. Nepeta gives the best hugs. After Roxy, that is. “Is Dave home? I’m gonna kick his ass.”

“Umm yes, but I’d prefur if you’d refrain from doing that inside,” she says, pressing a gentle hand to your elbow as she pulls away. She’s touchy, you’ll give her that.

You don’t really care to let it bother you.

“Dave, your meowrail’s here!”

After all, it’s not her you’re worried about.

“’Pet, I keep tellin’ you, you can’t call him that. We don’t even like each other that much.”

There is always a moment of disconnect when you hear his voice, when you see him again, freckle-spattered arms and hair in a hushed shade of gold.

It’s the fact that he doesn’t ask ‘Peta for his shades back, that you can see the way his eyes, layered red and orange, scrunch with fondness, all the pieces of you that ache to be a part of him, the fact that you know he can’t help but feel the same.

There’s a reason you avoid him, of course there is, but sometimes, you wonder what would be easier.

“As if you’d dare to cheat on Hal,” you scoff when you find your voice. “He’d fucking eviscerate you.”

“Well you won’t let me call him your pawtner,” Nepeta says instead, whapping him gently with her sleeve.

“Because we ain’t,” you both say, and she lets out a little snicker as she slides away from the door and ducks under Dave’s arm, but not before he reaches back and plucks his shades off her face.

You still feel this weird wave of anxiety when she turns her head, when you see her eyes, so like Dave’s layered with electric green that doesn’t match her blood color, but she just laughs again and then she’s gone.

“She does know we’re not actually moirails, right?” you ask, for no reason other than the anxiety you might have given the wrong impression.

Dave gives you a look before sliding his shades back on, a curl of the lips that’s not entirely his own, mixed with the kind of exasperation most trolls get when dealing with humans who don’t understand their culture.

Fuck him, you understand plenty, and you both know it.

“No shit, dipstick,” he says, but it’s not nearly as cool when you know he’s staring straight at you. “So what’s up with you. Been what, two years? Not saying I’m surprised, ‘course, considering how unreliable you can be.”

It’s only been one year and eight months, and you both know it.

You open your mouth but he stops you, and you almost resent that his accent swings lower when he’s upset, and that he says it all with the ghost of a smile, something fragile and fond, maybe a bit resentful.

“Y’ain’t even bothered to write at all, and you know I’d know if you tried, don’t fucking lie to me, Dave Strider.”

“I’m not here to play passive-aggressive southern pleasantries,” you snap, uncomfortable even now. “Did you fucking temporally relocate Dirk or didn’t you? Cuz if you did I’d say I’ve got more’n no goddamn business standin’ here.”

The smile slides off his face into an ugly frown, and you watch him close up, how odd it feels now as an adult, nearly as tall as you remember Bro being (how tall you know he is now, looking at Dirk when you hope he can’t see you), as he slumps in the doorway. “Why,” he demands, voice flat and cold.

“Because I’m going to beat the shit out of you if you did,” you say calmly. “What the fuck do you mean, why? He didn’t -” And it hits you again, too suddenly, just guts you to the fucking core, and you have to pretend you’re not having a meltdown on the doorstep of someone who doesn’t deserve it. “He didn’t tell me anything, I didn’t know he was - I was supposed to - Christ, what was I supposed to think?”

Dave watches you trip over yourself for a minute before acquiescing, nod slow and stiff. When he reaches out for you, it’s almost disgusting how the thrill moves through you, and you cave immediately with his hand around your wrist when he says, “You better come inside.”

You know he can tell what it does to you, what it does to both of you, because he doesn’t let go when the door closes, and then the two of you are just standing in the middle of his living room staring while neither of you breathe.

It aches in a way that almost soothes when he smiles, when his thumb moves across your knuckles, when you rock your feet closer to him. It’s so easy, so automatic, for a moment you forget why you ever left at all.

It’s Nepeta who finally notices, of course, and she rushes back into the room with an, “Oh fur fuck’s sake,” almost forgets to set down her tea set before she comes to separate you.

She is kind as she eases you apart, hands warm and nails filed short as they press into your wrist.

You shudder, Dave gags, and you so badly want to be close to him that it chokes you.

This is why you haven’t visited, this is why you can’t bear the thought.

That sensation, that desire, it’s messy. Extremely uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” he says weakly. “I didn’t think.”

Rose thinks if you spend more time together, it’ll start to fade.

“No,” you sigh. “Me neither.”

You don’t think either of you could bear it.

 _I miss you_ , you want to say. _I miss you._

“You two are so unbearable like this,” Nepeta tells you, hooking an arm in Dave’s and tugging him towards the couch. He caves with ease, though he looks back at you, and you think how much Nepeta goes out of her way to treat you both equally, even when they’re so much more than moirails, even when she’s the only other person who gets it, who has to watch what is essentially her other half look at someone else like,

Well.

You’re sort of the same person, or part of you wants to be, doesn’t it, and you aren’t entirely sure how to reconcile that.

The last time you two were in a room together was your twenty-first birthday, and you got in a fight about -

You fought about a lot of things, back then.

Probably always will.

You’re still not entirely sure which one of you is right.

You nearly jump when Nepeta touches your arm, but she smiles patiently, tips her head in askance.

“Sorry,” you mumble as you cross the room and drop into their favorite chair. “It’s been - listen, my shit’s been weird all year.”

“He asked me to,” Dave blurts like a little kid who did something wrong. “I didn’t know you were supposed - when he asked, Christ, Dave, I could hardly say no.”

“Why the fuck not,” you huff.

“Because he -”

“Dave,” Nepeta says, a pitch too high.

He colors uselessly and presses his lips together.

“Because he what,” you demand.

“Pet,” Dave begs.

“Dirk told us in confurdence!” she protests, stamping her foot. It’d be more adorable, you think, if you weren’t so hyper-aware that her pants belonged to Dave, that you weren’t filled with something stuck between admiration and irrational jealousy.

“Can I just remind everyone I had to find out our hang session was canceled from a crocodile,” you say.

Nepeta turns eyes on you that remind you, for a moment, of Jade, and you love her a little bit more.

Fuck.

Shake your hands free.

You hate when this happens.

Dave notices, and when he offers you a smile it is soft, shaky at the corners. He knows, of course he knows.

You don’t allow yourself eye contact. “Someone better start fucking talking,” you say instead.

“Dave,” Nepeta says, this time to you. It’s not quite a pout, but it does enough to quiet you, at least momentarily.

“Look, man, we can’t go around breaking our mutual dudebro’s trust without purrmission,” he says, anguished. You know he slipped a cat pun in there because he does that when he’s nervous and you can’t really call him out on it because you do find it endearing, even if it’s in the most embarrassing way possible.

“He fucking ditched me,” you whine, like a proper adult human being.

“He had his reasons,” Nepeta says softly. She hands you a cup of tea and doesn’t comment when you don’t thank her. “Sometimes people need space, Dave. We just don’t always have to know why.”

“But you do,” you say. Your brow furrows and you frown. Feel pathetic. “It feels like everyone knows but me and it just fucks me up not being able to - I don’t know.” Your hands clench around the cup and you do not admit to using the edge of your power to keep it from shattering entirely. “I don’t fucking know.”

Dave and Nepeta do this thing where they look at each other like they’re the only people in the room, like they’re having a full conversation and no one can hear it but them.

You don’t know.

Maybe they are.

You were never the Heart guy, were you?

“I can’t tell you the reasons,” Dave says eventually, turning towards you. You are not bothered by the way his hands find his knees, that you could count the freckles spanning his knuckles, if you wanted to, how they could be your hands, if they weren’t so soaked in the color orange. He twists them in the fabric of his pants, looks about as anxious as you feel. “But we can give you his adpurress.”

He stops, opens his mouth, snaps it closed and frowns.

Nepeta wrinkles her nose in distaste. “That’s a stretch, even fur you.”

“The only thing here that’s a stretch is assuming I have any control of the shit that comes out of my mouth,” he monotones, pushing himself up and heading away towards the kitchen. “Purretty sure I got a sticky note on the fridge. I’ll just. Write that down. Fur you.”

You can hardly blame him for being embarrassed, or for wanting to get out of the room (and away from you), but you watch him go and feel that pang all over again.

Nep waits til he’s gone before turning back to face you, and she only hesitates for a second before coming to perch on the edge of the coffee table. Nepeta is small, but her eyes are sharp and green, gleam so brightly from the yellow sclera it’s unnerving, and you do often feel like a prey item she hasn’t picked off yet. “Have you really not given it any more pawt?”

“Pot,” you monotone.

“Thought,” she huffs, slapping you with a long sleeve. “I know you mew that.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, drag a hand down your face and rub it across your mouth. “Look, I just don’t know if I’m - if we could even handle... Shit, Nep, look at us in the same room together. It’s unbearable.”

“It’s unbearable beclaws neither of you will try!” she says, exaspurrated.

Uh.

Exasperated.

“I just don’t know if I’m ready to wade into the troll kiddie pool,” you mumble, look down at your lap. Your fingers lace together awkwardly, as if on their own. “Like, Karkat ‘n I work because we ain’t set in any such square, we’re kind out here straddling lines and shit, dicks in our hands, really fucked up human style. You ever heard of foursquare?”

“Dave,” she says with such great fucking patience, someone definitely better equipped to handle you than maybe you’ve ever given her credit fur.

For.

Dammit.

“I think you and Dave get too caught up in trying to define the difference between being human and being troll. Sometimes you can love -”

“I don’t -”

“You can _love_ someone,” she speaks over you, “and not know which box to tick.” Her eyes scrunch up and you’re almost more amused that she’s become better at human lingo than Karkat ever has been. You guess she did have the opportunity to be 33.333% human, for at least a little while.

“Hal,” you protest weakly. It sounds pathetic.

Nepeta rolls her eyes like you, like Dave, and comes to sit on the edge of your chair instead, wraps her big floppy sleeves around your shoulders and hugs your head.

There was a time, you think, when you still cringed at the idea of a hug, when you went all stiff and weird, couldn’t quite find the right response because you’d never,

And maybe that’s why you’re so fucking clingy to Dirk now, constantly pushing your way into his space, demanding attention and handing it back in return.

For now you press your face into Nepeta’s elbow.

“Dave and Hal aren’t actually meowrails, Dave,” she says in a voice that’s nearing amusement. “And if you actually asked him, I think mew would find his relationship is more similar to yours and Dirk’s!”

“What the fuck does that mean,” you huff.

“I mean he loves him, you big dummy. And that doesn’t always have the same meowning.”

“That was a bit of a stretch,” you parrot, “even for you.”

“I think you mean _fur_ me,” she says with a grin, and then she presses a kiss to the top of your head.

You are never sure if you find peace in Nepeta because you are a part of Dave or because she is, but you don’t mind, just fur the moment, letting yourself have this.

“Hey man, get your own platonic life partner,” Dave drawls, deadpan as he returns right on fucking cue.

“Apparently I’m trying,” you say wryly, raising your head to look at him.

You are trying not to be so messy, but it’s hard when you see him lean in the doorway, when you know he still gets aches and pangs from when he used to be a sprite,when he wasn’t sure his legs could actually hold.

You feel that hole in your chest, aching anxiety and a longing that almost drowns you, and you want to say something.

There’s a part of you, perhaps something left from the Game, some horrible drive that you can’t shake, that wants so desperately for the two of you to be the same person again.

You don’t know how to stop it.

Or you do, but you’re too

You’re just not ready.

You should,

Should try.

Nepeta thinks you should try.

Instead, you bow out, let your fear win, unfold from the chair and walk towards him.

“Guess I should head out then, go see what the fuck exactly is so worth Dirk’s time he has to ditch me on the spot.”

“Yeah,” Dave mumbles, careful not to let your fingers brush as he hands you the slip of paper.

“Thanks,” you say, hovering at the edge of the door. You don’t need to see Nepeta’s face to know how disappointed she is. You can still feel it.

“Yeah,” Dave says again, with a complicated emotion across his face that hurts you, all the way down.

“Anyway,” you say, awkward as hell. Why are you doing this? Fuck’s sake. “Later, I guess.” Christ. “And I’ll - I’ll see you. Around.”

Fuck fuck _fuck_.

And then you leave.

And then you leave like a fucking idiot, you bow out like a coward because a part of you knows, deep down, how easily you could fuck it all up.

The address is, to your surprise, not in Austin, after all.

It’s in New Houston.

Well.

Guess you can’t account for all your own problems.

Still, you curse him, annoyed and a little nervous, as you propel yourself into the air and set off at a speed high enough you know it’d make Karkat feel sick.

  
  



	2. new houston, new me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dave does find dirk, and perhaps it should have been more obvious, from the beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas eve eve! i'm not sure why i decided to post this now but! oh well! here we are! i am so sorry! this is nothing at all like my other fic and we find out it's all just a front for a fancy soap opera, after all

Temporally speaking, Dirk can’t have been here for more than a week, but if he’s already got himself an apartment, he’s definitely settling in for the long haul (not like it’s hard, honestly; carapacians are not an especially long-lived species but they have developed something of a culture known for recognizing you all on sight, and it’s unnerving as it is somewhat endearing. You really miss the Mayor).

He’s settled in the part of town that’s all skyscraping structures and gleaming windows, and you’re not particularly surprised.

He’s a predictable person, Dirk. At least to you.

He likes tech, likes convenience and ingenuity, and he’s always adored a well-oiled machine, straight, neat lines and clearly planned out streets.

The eastern end of New Houston looks like it was made for him.

And to a point, you suppose it was.

Truth be told, you aren’t overly fond, though you can see your influence everywhere, from the high-rise buildings and towering Temples of Time (the intimidation factor is certainly there, at least, and you don’t think you’ll ever be able to live up to the idea this world has of you) to the layout of the city in general, the cut of the roads and the way the traffic flows (you did, after all, build this place for yourself).

It just.

Reminds you of the things you’ve lost.

Reminds you of some shit you don’t want to talk about, or think about, or ever confront, because what’s the fucking point.

Like something you can never have back, Earth 1.0, the hum of cars and the constant sounds and smells of city life.

Dirk’s building is not the highest - that honor belongs to a brilliant red Crocker Corp skyscraper in the distance - but it is massive, and you aren’t even sure you’ll be allowed to touch down from the top, even if you can fly. Ain’t exactly looking for a massive media meltdown, after all.

Better to just.

Act like a person, you guess.

You should have brought Karkat, honestly, you’re walking into a situation you’re not prepared for with a head just fucking

swimming with bullshit.

This was a bad idea.

There’s not nearly the fuss you thought there would be, opening the glass doors (much to the befuddlement of a doorman, a hulking troll with swirling horns that nearly startles you with how quiet and unnoticed they managed to go) and heading towards the elevators.

“Uh,” you say to anyone who is staring, or to everyone, because why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut, Jesus dicking Christ, Dave. “Sorry. Just - visiting my brother, you know? He ain’t in trouble or nothin’. Well actually yes he is because he didn’t tell me he was moving here at all. Not saying this place ain’t swank as fuck since it obviously is, like seriously goddamn dude did you build this place yesterday? Fucking incredible. Anyway. Uh. Yeah. Elevator. Later. Oh shit write that down --”

the elevator door closes on your ramble and you sink back against the metal bar, try to remember how to breathe.

What the fuck are you actually doing here? What made you think essentially stalking your brother through time was a good fucking idea?

Jesus.

You should have pushed Dave. You should have tried harder.

Ugh.

You realize, staring at the keypad, you have no fucking clue what you are doing. You’ve never been here, you don’t know where Dirk lives or how any of this works. Why didn’t you ask the front desk? Was there a directory? Holy shit you don’t even remember if the lobby had a _ bathroom _ , oh good lord.

But you know Dirk, don’t you, and he’s nothing if not a stereotype.

So you slap your hand on the recognition pad (the amount of times your calluses interfered with older tech literally infuriated Dirk to the point where he rebuilt the entire locksmith industry from the ground up. All of you work very hard at dinner parties not to bring it up). It scans your hand, shades of orange and red, and then lights up cheerful blue. You are not surprised at all, and it makes you smile, a private little thing you don’t have to share with anybody else.

You’re also not surprised when, with a ding and a hum, the elevator takes off, up and up towards the penthouse suite.

Go fucking figure, part two.

Dirk has always liked high places; the roof of his own apartment, the impossibly tall workshop all alone in the middle of the consort kingdom. The north spire of Rose’s old mansion.

This is no different, you argue with yourself as you step out of the elevator and into a pointless hall with one exit that leads to the roof, and a single apartment door with the number 1025 on it, nestled dead center between the elevator and stairwell.

You feel odd when you knock, and it takes a second, how you feel the urge to pause, anxiety lurching in your stomach as you consider ringing his stupid doorbell instead.

Karkat would say  _ “Jesus Christ -”  _ (and he gets that from you now, doesn’t he) _ “you’re useless, let me do it.” _

And then he’d pound on the door until it almost exploded and Dirk would come out and say _ holy fuck dude what are you doing here. _

And then,

You don’t know.

You’d try not to explode on Dirk, try not to grab him by the shoulders and shake him til his head fell off, but then he’d fucking like that, wouldn’t he, stupid asshole.

So you stand there at the precipice of,

of your fear, your anxiety, and you don’t know how to knock.

And then you do anyway.

Because it’s Dirk, isn’t it, it’s just Dirk, he’s your bro, he’s the person you’ve spent almost every Tuesday with for the past six years, if you both weren’t busy, and at least one Tuesday a month, if you were. Family gatherings notwithstanding, of course. Since holidays don’t always land on the same day of the week. That’d be fucked up, wouldn’t it?

At least you stuck with the same day/month system in this world, even if none of the Earth’s residents really have any fucking clue  _ why _ . Can you imagine if you’d had to figure out something like, Fraturday or Meownday??

Jesus Christ.

Abysmal.

You ain’t got time for that.

Figuratively speaking, of course.

So you knock, a quick ratta-tat-tat, hells of fucking cool, sick ass beat if you don’t say so yourself, and then you wait.

There’s a moment of panic where you consider covering the peephole, wonder why you’d bother at all. It’s not like you think Dirk is expecting you or anything. If he wanted to see you then he wouldn’t have,

You want to think he wouldn’t have,

DONE any of this.

In recent years, Rose has done away with the entire concept of inviting people ahead entirely, and it’s a little creepy.

A lot fucking creepy.

_ “I already know you’re coming, Dave, you don’t have to ask permission every time,” _ she says, every goddamn time she answers the phone.

And you always say, you tell her,  _ “Yeah, but that’s fucking rude, you monster,” _ and then you fly over anyway because you’re a goddamn gentleman.

Dirk’s footsteps have always been silent, same as you, same as Dave, and it does not take half as much energy not to flinch as it used to when the door squeaks open, but you can feel the edge of ache in your shoulders, uncontrollable tension and the way you freeze involuntarily.

Kinda grateful, most days, that Karkat’s got footsteps like a fucking elephant.

But then the door is open, and there’s Dirk, and he’s,

He’s totally fine, he’s perfectly alright, of course he is, hair stuck up on one side (it’s not that early, but Dirk is a monster with an irregular sleeping schedule so you’re not surprised, and honestly have no room to talk, besides), and his shirt rumpled, too-short pajama pants and no socks on a solid wood floor, the fucking animal.

The thing about Dirk is.

The thing about Dirk is, even though he’s a mess, even though his house is never tidy when you come over and he is often mid-project, up to his elbows in oil or with hands covered in electrical burns, glue in his hair and a slanted grin on his face,

He always makes you feel safe.

And that’s hard for you to admit, because there is so much of Bro in him, especially now, and it’s not his fault, never will be, how you see him when Dirk hasn’t shaved in a few days, how he gets that look on his face when he’s coding, the neutrality of his mouth mixed with the line that creases his brow.

Yes, he’s Bro, in the way that you are every version of Dave, in the way that you and Dave fold over each other uselessly, but he’s so much more than that.

He makes you feel safe.

He makes you feel welcome.

Except, of course, right now.

He inhales on your name, a soft, “Dave,” like he’s surprised to see you, like he didn’t completely miss your Tuesday escapade, like he didn’t up and leave the fifth age behind, you along with it, without a fucking word.

“Hey,” you say, and then you just stand there, and you’re not out of breath, because it’s not like you ran a marathon, but your chest feels tight, anyway. “You got uh, pretty sweet digs here, dude.”

Nice, casual. Nailed it.

He continues to stare.

You stare back.

You’re going to explode.

_ Don’t, Dave, _ a small part of you begs. It sounds like Dave. _ Don’t freak out. We can’t tell you why - _

They couldn’t tell you why.

No one would tell you why.

“Yes,” Dirk says finally, clears his throat to dislodge a bit of the sleep that clings to the corners. “They finished it last week.”

“You left me there,” you blurt, and alright.

Okay, we’re doing this.

Fuck niceties, fuck being polite.

Your bro fucking ditched you.

“You just and fuckin’ ditched me, dude, what the fuck happened to you?”

Somehow, that catches him off-guard. “I -” he start, mouth opening, tongue tapping the top of his hard palate audibly.

“I went all the way to your godforsaken workshop in that humid ass jungle, and you know what I found? A fucking crocodile, dude. You  _ know _ how I feel about those guys, you  _ know _ . I’m pretty sure they’re still trying to eat me, actually, even after all these years, shit’s probably genetic at this point, god knows why they like you so much, you know? So I’m stranded in the middle of the jungle, armpits all fucking damp for no goddamn reason, and there’s a little red croc just shouting _ ‘he’s not here!’ _ at the top of its lungs, and I have to message Rose because I have no fucking clue what else to do. And you know what she tells me, Dirk?”

“Dave -”

“She says, ‘Oh, you didn’t know, Dave?’” you seethe, stepping forward, getting a foot in the door. “He left. But not just this fucking country, he left this  _ century _ .”

And beyond all reason, Dirk takes a step back, bows away from your space, and you follow him, step after step, until you’re in the middle of his new apartment in a new city in a new era that he decided to move on to without you.

_ Without you _ .

“He left without a word to you, specifically, even though everyone else knows. Everyone else but you, Dave! Isn’t that so fucking sad? Isn’t that fucked up that you were ditched by the only fucking person you -” You bite down on whatever you were going to say next, because you don’t know, exactly, or aren’t really ready to say,

Look, it doesn’t matter.

“Dirk,” you say, and you sigh, shoulders dropping as you look up at him. “What the fuck, man?”

“I,” he starts, stops. He looks nervous. Dirk never looks nervous.

Or if he does, never around you.

He’s an intimidating figure, or would be, if he weren’t so fucking gangly, if that last growth spurt a few years back hadn’t robbed him of any definition at all. He’s as tall as Bro now, you think, but the idea isn’t so bad when you know, staring at him, you’re barely two inches shorter.

“I meant to message you,” he offers, and you think he’s lucky you’re not much of one for any kind of physical violence (Roxy still socks people in the arm when she’s excited, and it’s totally fine, it is, but fuck if it does not absolutely destroy all the feeling in your fingers for like ten minutes every time).

“Dude,” you say, and then you’re just standing there, and so is he, and it’s completely silent.

Karkat thought you should wait for him.

Karkat thought it would wreck you if he didn’t want to talk to you, and he was - is - right. You know that Karkat worries about smothering people in his emotions, in himself, that he worries he’s too much (he can be, but not for you, never for you), and you know, both of you know, you can be the same way.

So maybe you should have given him space.

Maybe waiting would have been smarter.

But you,

You can’t.

You can’t because you know Dirk better than anyone, you know how he gets stuck in his own head, you know how it becomes an all-consuming spiral, you know how easily he can fall apart, all on his own.

“I thought it might be Jake, again,” you say, because you know the two of you can sit here forever, living in this awkward, horrible place, and you hate it, want desperately for it to dissipate. “I know you’re - last time we talked you two were on the, the outs, again, I guess, and -”

“That’s not -” he begins, too venomous, clamps his mouth shut.

“I  _ know _ you don’t want to talk about it,” you agonize, because he doesn’t. He never does. “You never want to talk about it. I’m never even sure what the fuck I’ll walk into some weeks, dude. The stress alone could fucking kill a normal person.”

When they get like that, it’s impossible for you to convince Dirk it’s okay, and he ends up doing stupid shit. He’s never done anything quite on this scale before, but you’re not exactly surprised it happened at all.

You’re getting used to it, thought, in the same way you never will, and eventually, the two of them will fall back together.

It’s messy, it’s disastrous, it keeps fucking Hapening(tm), but you cannot, for the life of you, convince your brother to stop.

He’ll always hold a candle for Jake English, boy dumbass extraordinaire. At this point, you just expect that shit.

(It’s another one of those things nobody brings up at dinner parties.)

“Dave, I hardly think Jake alone would be enough of a catastrophe that I would decide to move,” he sighs, drags a hand down his face. His hair still looks like shit. You wonder if he cares.

“Then why,” you push. You shouldn’t have to do this, you shouldn’t be here, in the wrong century, demanding shit from Dirk that you might not even have business knowing at all, but you can’t help it.

You’re a nosy bitch.

And he hurt your feelings.

“You don’t have to tell me everything,” you say, wring your hands nervously. “I know we aren’t - but shit, man, it’s been years. I kinda think I deserve an explanation if you’re going to up and disappear on me.”

Dirk does this thing when he lies, where he runs his tongue over the back of his teeth, and it’s near imperceptible, a subtle adjustment of his jaw, but.

But you know him better than that, don’t you.

Little bits and pieces of body language that leak through the cracks, how his finger drags along the edge of his worn black tank top, the twitch of his brow and how you know his eyes mark exits on automatic.

You can see when he changes his mind, when he decides to tell the truth.

You know he’s ready to cave when his shoulders sag, when he sighs out his nose and presses his thumb to his middle finger until it cracks, when he offers you a weak smile. “I’ve had a lot on my mind. I am aware it seems sudden, but it is something I’ve been considering for some time, now. What with Jane relocating, and Roxy and Callie talking about it -” You. Didn’t know about that. “I reckoned maybe I should attempt to explore our world a little further. By the time I made my choice, I had already forgotten what day it was. I’m sorry, Dave. I shouldn’t have - I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you to care so much.”

“Jesus, dude,” you say without meaning to, and it comes out around a laugh, something caustic and hurt. “Of fucking course I care, Dirk. You’re my bro. We’re friends. I - you can’t just run away from your problems and shit, you know?”

“Yes, I know,” he sighs, and there goes his hand into his hair, same as ever, though this time he smooths it back, something resembling order.

Time ticks forward.

Dirk flexes his hands.

You want to prod further.

Eventually, he says, “Well. It’s Friday now. Do you still wanna hang?”

And.

Okay, the truth is, Fridays are usually the days you spend with Jade at Rose and Kanaya’s place. Not exactly a proper movie night so much as a continued education on Jade’s 21st century meme literacy.

It’s an uphill struggle, but someone’s gotta do it.

Even if it’s irrelevant now.

Whatever.

You could always just go back a few hours later, you’d never have to cop to that lost time, no one would ever have to know (except Rose, who almost always knows).

But Karkat might worry.

And Jade would text you, and you’d.

Well.

“Uh,” you say, knuckles popping idly. There's always a nanosecond before you can give Dirk a solid denial of anything, there always has been. You're beginning to suspect that's just how things have to be, between the two of you. "I mean, I’d love to, you know, literally, because I’ve been freaking out about this for days, but I - I kinda have plans? I guess? I just came from Dave ‘n Nep’s because - Jesus fucking Christ, Dirk, I can’t believe you told him but not me.  _ Them _ , actually, because Nepeta seems to know everything, too!”

Oh shit you’re still gonna be mad about this, huh.

Fine.

“Dave,” he says again, and this time his face contorts, a grimace that he can’t quite hide in time, and it's ugly, insomuch as anything Dirk does is ever truly ugly, unplanned and awkward and oh so very human.

“I can handle wanting a change of pace,” you say, and you raise your hands, stand there like you're trying not to spook an easily frightened animal. Dirk is far from harmless, but he's more defensive than anything, and a sword-whipping contest isn't really what you had in mind for this trip. “I can handle you forgetting what fucking day it is, because okay, Dave and I are the time guys, I get that, and it’s not like any of us know what fucked up shit Aradia’s getting up to, right, but I’m supposed to be your brother, and you don’t -” You inhale, realize he’s making a face you can’t parse, and waver, just an inch. “I’ve never seen you run from me before,” you confess softly.

And it's true, isn't it, after all these years, all this time, the two of you have worked so hard to fold into each other's space, all your shame and embarrassment and issues laid bare to the one person who you never could have imagined relying on for anything.

He's been your safe haven during the rough days, and last time he and Jake imploded (and they always do, eventually), he slept on your couch for three months until Rose convinced him to leave.

Not that you were complaining.

Sure, he turned your living room into a workshop, and sure, he and Karkat had possibly the worst sleeping habits of all time, but it wasn't that bad.

Usually.

Look, bottom line, Dirk goes to you for shit. This is unprecedented, and downright fucking uncool, on top of it.

His smile, when he gives it to you, is sour at the edges. You realize, the two of you standing alone in the middle of the room, that everything is an unorganized mess, boxes littering the floor, stacked in messy piles with no discernible pattern.

He hasn’t worked very hard to move in at all, has he. He barely even set up the futon and TV, Jesus.

“I’m not trying to,” he says, but there is an edge to it, and suddenly you feel more like a frustration to him, than anything.

“Bullshit,” you say, but you stop there, just within arm’s reach. “Dirk, I’ve known you since we were sixteen goddamn years old. Do you seriously think I can’t tell when you’re lying?”

His mouth ticks down at the corners and you can see that he’s uncomfortable for how his feet shift, the way he puts his weight on his left heel, as if he’s going to turn, to flee.

And from what?

You?

The idea is preposterous and yet, simultaneously, fills you with fear.

“Cool,” you say, can’t quite keep the hurt out of your words when he doesn’t say anything at all. “Guess I’ll take my fucking leave, then. If you ain’t got anything to say.”

“Dave,” he says, and there’s desperation to it, the way he moves an arm as if to reach out for you, before pulling back at the last second.

“You seriously thought ‘gee I’ll just swap centuries like spit but I ain’t gonna tell Dave about it’, like that decision doesn’t affect me at all?” You turn in the doorway, catch yourself in the frame.

You don’t expect him to be right behind you.

He's making that face again.

“Dude, why didn’t you tell  _ me _ ?” and it sounds so pathetic when it comes out, like you’re - hurt, you guess. Which you are. “I know Dave - but I’m - I could have done it, y’know. Too.”

“Because I -” He almost lies again, and you watch him flounder, how he presses his lips together, frustrated or mad or, something, something.

You’ve seen Dirk mad, truly mad, a handful of times over the years, but it’s a fleeting thing, and he’s never yelled at you.

Standing there, hand braced against the door, fucked up hair and fucked up clothes, you wonder if he’s close.

“I couldn’t,” he says finally. Begs, begs you to understand, a note of sorrow in his voice you almost can’t parse. This close you can see the bags under his eyes, smell the coffee on his breath. He hasn’t slept. “Because I couldn’t, Dave, Christ. Not you. I couldn’t - wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Do what?” you ask weakly, carefully don’t shrink back when he rocks forward.

“Dave, being around you is -” Dirk inhales, and his brows are bunched, a line pulling at the corner of his mouth. “It’s great.” And his voice is low, nothing like anger trapped between his words. “It’s always great. Kinda think I prefer it to anyone else, really, and I haven’t - it’s been a long time. Since I’ve felt like that.” He offers a thin smile. “The way I feel when it’s just you and me, I mean. Can’t say there’s anything else quite like it.”

“Dirk,” you say slowly, and your fingers drum against the wood, feel unsteady, maybe a little embarrassed. You rock forward on your toes, consider grabbing him by the shirt and demanding answers. “Dirk, you know I love the shit out of you, but I have no fucking clue what you’re -” You bite your lip. “I don’t understand.”

“That’s the problem, Dave,” he sighs softly, and you’re not expecting it, when he leans forward, don’t think to flinch when he cups your face in his hands and presses his lips against yours.

Your first thought is, his lips are a lot softer than you thought they'd be.

The second is oh, this is really happening.

“Uh,” you say.

Then he steps away, face an impenetrable mask, and he slams the door in yours.

“Wh,” you say.

The door doesn’t say anything at all.

You go home.

You don’t remember exactly when, or how, though you must have done it yourself, because you pop up in the middle of the living room, the familiar shift as time and space make a Dave-shaped hole for you to fill, and you hear Karkat before you see him, cursing as he jumps to his feet, weapon drawn before he can register that it’s you at all.

"What the fuck," he says, like he's out of breath, but he looks just the same as you left him, still wearing pajamas with hair that hasn't seen a brush in potentially days.

"Hey," you say, staring at him blankly. Then, "Sorry."

Karkat's ability to see through your bullshit is legendary now, though it hasn't always been, and he sets down his bowl of English-O's, crosses the room with his hands up, right where you can see them. "Do I even need to ask if you're okay? Shit, is Dirk? When you said you were going to kill him I didn't think you meant literally-"

"He's fine," you say, stare over his head at the cabinets. You're taller than Karkat. Have been for years. 

"Fine sounds like an overstatement," he says, but you let him manhandle you onto the couch without a word. "I have literally never known Dirk to be anything approaching fine during any stretch of time. I believe he exists solely to be stressed the fuck out about something, even if that thing sucks absolute feces."

Haha he's right.

Laugh.

Tell him he's funny.

"He kissed me," you say instead.

Karkat freezes, one hand still on your shoulder, and you don't cringe when his nails dig in. "Are you alright?" he asks, more gentle than usual.

And surprisingly, you are. You're - you're not sure you're breathing, maybe, and your brain is

God who fucking knows honestly but you,

You're,

"Yeah," you say slowly. "I'm - yeah."

Karkat paws his hand through your hair absently, as if lost in thought. Then he says, "Didn't think he had it in him."

You look up at him, mouth flapping like a guppy. "But he," you say. "Jake - I -"

He sighs, rolling his eyes and tucking your head against his stomach. "You can be such a fucking moron, Dave."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy your holidays!!! i have no idea when i will update again but probably see u in the new year! c: <3

**Author's Note:**

> i will probably not update this nearly often enough, so i'm unsure if i would get myself attached haha


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